


Live Your Best Life (because mine just started)

by emiliaf25 (emiliaf24)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Badass Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Cinnamon Roll Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, DPD shenanigans, Family, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Social Media
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliaf24/pseuds/emiliaf25
Summary: “Need a hand, Lieutenant?”Hank felt his brain screech to a resounding halt. He did not know how to feel. He did not know how to react. Should he focus on the fact that his partner had hurled his own severed arm at the perp that just a few moments ago was holding Hank at gunpoint? Or should he worry about the shittastic piece of garbage of a pun he just dropped, all the while smiling his doofy ‘did I do a good, Hank??’ smile and leaking blue blood from his shoulder like a demented blue-raspberry icee machine.“I was attempting to use clever wordplay to encourage a humorous response. Did I utilize it correctly, Lieutenant?”





	Live Your Best Life (because mine just started)

**Author's Note:**

> Humanity has been trying to figure out how to function in a harmonious, or at least non-apocalyptic, fashion since the dawn of society (results are still pending). A year after the Android Revolution, in a world where equality is slowly becoming something more than words on paper, the android race has a lot of catching up to do in regards to being human. This is especially true for CyberLife’s most advanced prototype, who was created to be more machine than them all. Join Connor as he learns all over again what he is, and what he is not.

The mandatory staff meetings the DCPD held every three months were boring.

 

A majority of the officers in the conference room were staring at the presentation with glazed, inattentive eyes, Hank had actually _arrived_ in his pajamas and had whipped out his neck pillow to doze on (20 minutes and 45 seconds into the presentation of course. He was polite like that), and even Captain Fowler looked sick of hearing himself talk. He had already cut himself off in the middle of an explanation saying “blah blah blah, you assholes get the picture…” approximately 6 times, and if Connor was reading the pattern in Fowler’s mannerisms correctly, they were well on their way to a 7th time.

 

Sometimes Connor longed for those first few weeks after the Android Revolution, where he could experience an emotion such as _boredom_ and feel the whirlwind of CONFUSION/EXCITEMENT/FEAR that came with analyzing himself and questioning his existence post deviancy.

 

Today, he was watching Dog Fail videos.

 

Subtly, of course. While in his idle mode he at least appeared physically attentive, and if Fowler divulged any new data or addressed Connor directly, the video in his HUD would automatically close. Unlike Hank, Connor was completely and unironically polite.

 

Well, he was at least 85.6% sure that his politeness was apart of his base personality and not a trait leftover from his original programming. Once, in an attempt to more efficiently rule out the possibility that he might find being impolite enjoyable, he only put 16.46 grams of sugar in Hank’s coffee instead of the usual 20 grams that he preferred.

 

For hours he agonized over the cruelty of his deception. The warm bubbly sensation he often felt whenever he pet Sumo or solved a particularly difficult case or when Hank gave him one of his rare hugs was completely absent from his being. There was only the cold tightness of guilt, drowning him in a sea of his own making.

 

At the 5 hour mark, Connor finally confessed to his innocent victim.

 

“Huh,” Hank drawled, giving his nearly empty coffee cup a curious look. “Thought it tasted a little different this morning.” He grabbed the cup and knocked back the rest of it, swishing it around his mouth a little while gazing upward as if he could analyze the chemical compounds like Connor. “Nope. Nevermind, still the same shit. What’d you do that for, anyway? Your internal calculator not calibrated this morning or something?”

 

The numerous amount of inaccuracies in that question was liable to start a fight if Connor tried to explain it. Which was not the point of this interaction. He was here to confess his sins and beg forgiveness, not cause more strife. “No. I was curious as to what impact CyberLife’s coding had on some facets of my personality (politeness in this instance) so I decided to see if it was a preferential state of being or if in actuality I am more inclined towards more indelicate behaviors.”

 

“....Alright. Lemme hear that again but with words this time.”

 

“I was trying to be an asshole.”

 

One of Hank’s eyebrows rose. This particular micro expression could mean anything from mere curiosity to _Jesus fuck how is something so expensive so stupid?_. “ _That_...was you being an asshole?”

 

“Yes. And I have concluded that it does not agree with me. Unfortunately, my experiment in self awareness was at the expense of your mental well being. For that I am sorry.”

 

“Oh yeah, Con. You’re a real monster.”

 

“Understood. I will pack my things and find a hotel as soon as possible.”

 

“ _No_ \- What!? That’s not what I meant damnit…!”

 

His analysis of the matter was still technically inconclusive since he only conducted the single trial, and it would probably remain that way for the foreseeable future. Connor was not eager to feel that amount of damning guilt again.

 

“...thanks to the contributions from our Android Task Force, violent crime against androids have gone down 44% in the last four months.”

 

Before Fowler could even complete his sentence the conference room burst into sudden applause. Hank snorted as he startled awake from the noise, while Connor quickly closed the video of a husky puppy riding a skateboard (how delightfully absurd. That would be going in his BEST DOGS THAT ARE NOT SUMO file for later viewing). Currently Hank and Connor were the only officers assigned to the Android Task Force, so all of the tired “congrats guys” and grunts of approval were strictly for them. Connor was startled to see that he was receiving nearly equal the amount of positive attention that Hank was. A quick scan of everyone showed their Relationship Status had changed significantly since his last analysis. Upon Hank’s insistence that it was rude to _“dissect people’s fucking emotions when they don’t know you’re doing it”_ , Connor tried not to scan people unless it was on the job or an emergency (though sometimes he did so reflexively, like in this instance, when he was caught off guard). It made things ten times more difficult for him to navigate the most basic of social interactions and, if he were being honest with himself, he hadn’t been doing a stellar job of it even with his scanning.

 

Yet somehow, at some point, despite his many social blunders, the ever present climate of fear and mistrust still hovering between androids and humans, and Connor just being an overall awkward doofus, nearly everyone’s status read either **WARM** or **TRUSTED** , without a single **HOSTILE** in sight.

 

It was...difficult to categorize what he was feeling at that moment, as it often was for him. He detected HAPPINESS (an emotion that was like an old friend to him at this point), PRIDE (the fact that he had finally won the approval of his colleagues, whom he greatly admired?), and something else. Maybe CONTENTEDNESS? BELONGING? It felt like both at once. It definitely felt...significant. Perhaps he would ask Hank about it later. The grumpy Lieutenant may claim himself to be emotionally stunted, but he’d proven time and again to be excellent at parsing out Connor’s _“inner roller coaster of existential fuckery”_.

 

Connor actually had to struggle to keep from doing a double take when he caught sight of the lone **NEUTRAL** in the room before dismissing his scan, hovering above Detective Reed’s head.

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE:  
_\- Find out what in Kamski’s seventh hell I have done to change Detective Reed’s opinion of me._

SUB OBJECTIVE:

  * _Replicate if possible. May cure all diseases and solve the energy crisis._



 

“Nice work you two,” Fowler said, giving Connor a nod of approval and Hank an additional sigh of exasperation. More than likely caused by Hank’s less than professional attitude. Quite frankly Connor felt that Fowler was looking at this with a very glass half empty mentality. For the past six years Hank would not even show up for these meetings, let alone in his jammies. That achievement alone should at least be acknowledged in some way, Connor thought. Maybe Connor would acknowledge it later when they returned home. But maybe not with a giant banner and confetti cannons like the last time, when Connor tried to show his appreciation of Hank going a full month without a alcoholic beverage in the only way he knew how. With enthusiasm and miliristic precision.

 

 Perhaps he’d just order a pizza tonight. And hang a smaller banner.

 

“Thank you, Captain.”

 

“Yeah yeah. Just doing our fuckin’ job.”

 

Captain Fowler rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother to correct Hank’s language. Surely a sign he’d finally given up on trying to get Hank to stop cursing in the workplace. Even Connor knew that some missions were destined to fail.

 

“Human on human violent crime percentages however,” the Captain continued, “still remain the same as they have been for the past twenty-five years - that is to say steadily rising in small increments.”

 

Collective disappointed sighs and “Awwwww man’s” rang throughout the room. Well. That news certainly brought the mood down. If Fowler wanted to increase meeting attendance (since apparently there was another meaning of the word “mandatory” that Connor hadn’t quite figured out yet) and increase employee productivity, he was really going to have to work on his delivery. He had scoffed at Connor’s previous suggestion to add _Baby Hedgehogs in Tiny Hats Riding Large Dogs Compilation #5_ to the presentation (unfathomable. Is this what heresy looked like? Did humans fear perfection so much that when faced with it they turned away?), but he might be more amenable to a few hilarious police themed jokes to break up the monotony. He calculated a success rate of 0.003%.

 

Meh. He had beaten worse odds. All of which involved getting shot, stabbed and/or thrown out of tall buildings. Sometimes while on fire. In comparison, this would be a….piece of cake - to borrow the human nonsensical turn of phrase. Even the simplest of cakes took at least 50 minutes to bake and that was without errors; there was no ease in this task.

 

“ _Bowl of cereal_ ” would be a more apt description. Ha. Mark that down as SUGGESTED JOKES FOR CAPTAIN FOWLER: NUMBER 1. His success rate was already on the incline!

 

Fowler went through several more statistical updates which furthered the depressive atmosphere (easily avoidable with a strategically placed picture of a puppy but whatever) before Connor’s sensors prompted him to pay full attention again. “...public opinion towards the police department has gone up 30%. According to our Public Relation Analytics, this is in large part thanks to Connor.”

 

Hank turned to him (miraculously still awake), eyebrows raised in confusion, mirroring his own expression. “Is that what you’ve been getting up to at ass o'clock in the morning? Schmoozing with the media?”

 

“Two in the morning is hardly ‘ _ass o’ clock’_ , Lieutenant,” Connor dismissed absently. He was cycling through his memory banks for any indication as to how this could be. He could pinpoint several instances where public perceptions towards the DPD could have _dropped_ \- that time he had tried to smile at a convenience store owner in reassurance after a robbery, and subsequently scared him so badly the elderly man went into cardiac arrest was a prime example. But he could not find anything he had done on or off the job that would warrant such a dramatic increase in police popularity.

 

Was Fowler referring to all of the photos of Sumo he had posted? If so, then the PR team needed to be corrected immediately, for even though Connor was the photographer, it was Sumo and his inability to take a bad picture who deserved the credit.   

 

“It’s nothing to do with the press,” said Fowler. “Someone posted a video - well, there are a bunch of videos, but this one is the most popular.”

 

Connor blinked. Processors previously dedicated to designing a little police uniform for Sumo came to a sudden halt. Video? _Video(s)???_

 

The floor to ceiling projection behind Fowler displaying a few charts and graphs amidst a soul crushing manilla colored background, flickered away to reveal a video sharing website instead of the next slide. Connor made a note to compile a simpler instruction guide on how to insert videos into PowerPoint slides for Fowler at a later date. What were the odds that he would encounter not one, but _two_ millennials that were this ridiculously stumped by modern technology? Just the other day he had passed by a woman Hank’s age helping a female android adjust some wiring in her arm, then proceeded to take a victory selfie together complete with adorable animal themed filters.

 

Meanwhile, Hank did not know how to turn off the flashlight on his phone without assistance.

 

It was a baffling phenomenon to the android, but further proved that there were many complicated layers to the hard boiled, eccentric Lieutenant (who refused to buy a microwave that wasn’t built in 2016 for fear of blowing up the house) that Connor had yet to decipher.

 

Fowler enlarged the video, titled simply: _android cop saves little girl (FULL VIDEO)_ , and pressed play.

 

The scene opened to a bright and sunny day at one of Detroit’s parks. The camera was shaking a little, clearly being filmed with a smartphone, as the person who owned it tried to zoom in on the aftermath of a car accident across the street - the car having smashed into the front of a building.

 

“ _Jeeze. They really need to put a damn speed bump over there,_ ” a male voice sounded, presumably the camera person. _“Could’ve fuckin’ hit somebody._ _Stupid ass kids run around here like little psychopaths all the time, but does the city give two shits? Of course not, there’s only a car accident every other friggin’ day - exhibit friggin’ A over here._ ”

 

As if summoned by the man’s concerned-citizen-disgruntledness, and to indeed prove that there _were_ kids running around here, a little girl slowly walked into view of the camera. She was by the sidewalk, parallel to the other accident, her pigtails swinging as she looked this way and that sobbing; “ _mommy...I want mommy…!_ ”

 

“ _Ah shit, is she lost?_ ” the cameraman muttered. “ _Don’t see the parents anywhere...damnit._ ” He sighed. “ _I’ll give em’ five minutes...fuck, if I get in trouble because I wanted to be a stupid good samaritan I’ll be so mad -_ ”

 

A horn blared and drowned out whatever else the man had to say.

 

Everything happened very quickly after that.

 

“ _GET OUT OF THE WAY KID!! MOVEMOVEMOVE!_ ” The man screamed, barely audible to the police in the conference room as the horn trumpeted steadily and a large engine rumbled.

 

A semi truck suddenly came into view, barreling forward right behind the girl.

 

Just as suddenly, Connor was sprinting towards the child and the incoming truck.

 

At the very last millisecond, Connor swept the little girl up by the armpits and swung her and himself to the right and out of the way, the truck flying by them and out of the camera’s view. A few moments later there was a loud **BOOM** as the truck collided with something solid. Connor and the girl did one more turn from the momentum, before he set the now windswept kid on the grass. Neither of them were worse for wear.

 

“ _Holy shit,_ ” the cameraman said breathlessly. A sentiment shared by a majority of the current viewers.

 

The video continued on, the cameraman most likely in shock by such a hair raising event, as they kept hearing him breathe out quiet curses.

 

The girl, who had quieted due to her own shock, burst into fresh tears, complete with hysterical screaming this time.

 

Connor held his hands out helplessly, his brow furrowed and LED circling yellow as he tried to figure out what to do.

 

Something must have come to mind, because Connor straightened up and pulled out from the inside of his suit jacket a...yellow balloon and air pump of all things.

 

With the quick efficiency expected of the most advanced android prototype, Connor pumped up the balloon and twisted it like any other Carnival or Circus model. This seemed to grab the girls attention as her wailing petered off into a few hiccoughs and whimpers. By the time Connor finished, she was as calm as she was going to get considering what had happened. He kneeled down to her level, and with a little smile on his face, presented her with a cute yellow brontosaurus.

 

“Ok. That’s just too sweet,” said Mikael Wilson.

 

“Yea, real cute,” Hank huffed, side eyeing Connor with a barely there smile. “When’d you download the _party tricks protocol_ , kid?”

 

“I ah...didn’t download it,” Connor said, still a little dazed that a random human had been filming him without his knowledge. “I studied a few instructions and watched some HowTo video’s online.” He couldn’t help but straighten up and smile a little in return. Crafts and domestic tasks weren’t as compatible with his programming as say, martial arts techniques or weapons proficiency, so he usually tried to learn these tasks the old fashioned way. Success was...varying to say the least, so he was especially pleased that he was able to make balloon animals so well. “This is what I’m doing at ass o’ clock in the morning, by the way.”

 

Hank snorted. “I’m sure.” He clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder and gave it a warm shake. “Nice one, kid.” And Connor knew he wasn’t just talking about taking his time and learning things the human way, but the fact that he’d gone out of his way to help someone and, even better, hadn’t managed to get hurt in the process.

 

“Thanks Hank.”

 

“Is fucking movie night over yet?” Reed said, arms crossed in annoyance. “Some of us have actual work to do - ”

 

“Shh,” Tina Chen said. “We’ll miss the best part.”

 

“Are you fuckin’ serious? You’ve seen this garbage before? I thought you had a life, Tina.”

 

Chen punched Reed’s arm, none too gently if the unsuccessful attempt (to Connor’s optical units at least) to hide the wince was anything to go by. “I’m surprised none of you guys have. This shit is fucking amazing.”

 

“‘The fuck do I care what Small Soldier does in his stupid spare - ”

 

“Just shut the fuck up and watch you garbage human!”

 

“Fine! Calm your stupid tits!”

 

Connor blinked. Officers Reed and Chen had a strange friendship.

 

Back on the video, the little girl at this point appeared successfully distracted from her near death experience as she turned her back to Connor and bounced the dinosaur balloon in a parody of walking.

 

In the distance, a small black object could be seen. It grew bigger and bigger the closer it got. It was one of the huge tires from the truck that had crashed earlier. And it was headed straight for the android and child.

 

“ _Shit shit shit LOOKOUTLOOKOUTLOOKOUT!_ ” the ever unhelpful (albeit well meaning) cameraman shouted.

 

Smooth as butter, Connor stood from his crouch beside the little girl, pivoted his back foot, and swung his leg in a spinning hook kick, striking the incoming tire (which was about half Connor’s size and god knows how heavy) just before it could hit either of them, and sent it flying far over the cameraman and somewhere further into the park, presumably in a pond as there was the sound of a distant splash and startled yells in the next instance.

 

Meanwhile, Connor finished his spin, ducked back down to the little girls height, who looked back up at the android detective with a toothy smile - none the wiser of her second brush with death. He proceeded to entertain her with his signature coin tricks, smiling back at her as if nothing had happened.

 

The video finished there, freezing on Connor and the small child’s content features, like some kind of dystopian hallmark card.

 

There was a pause, before the precinct exploded into whoops and cheers.

 

“See! I told you! I told you guys!” Tina shouted, shaking Reed and most likely stirring him into a new level of rage.

 

“God. **_Damn_**! Now that was badass as hell,” Charles Wilson said excitedly as he twisted in his chair to face Connor. “You gotta give me some for that, man.” He brought up his closed fist and held it towards him.

 

Connor stared, his LED flickering yellow. Oh. He knew what this gesture meant!

 

Confidentiality, Connor thrust his palm out and tapped the still hovering fist. He then closed his hand over it and shook it up and down, twice, and let go. He smiled up at Wilson sincerely, quite happy to partake in this human congratulatory ritual for the first time.

 

Officer Wilson stared back at him in utter befuddlement. He looked at his still raised fist, back to Connor, then at his fist again. He shook his head and sighed. “We’ll get there soon, buddy,” he said, clapping Connor’s arm in a consoling matter.

 

Connor had no idea what to make of that. Hank wasn’t even trying to hide his laughter, so he knew he’d gone wrong in this somewhere. Ah well. Wilson did not appear annoyed by his faux paus (was probably as amused as Hank by it but was very kindly trying to spare him the embarrassment. Unnecessary, but he appreciated the sentiment). After a microsecond of debate, Connor edited the MISSION FAILURE notification that had popped up in his HUD to a MISSION SUCCESSFUL PROBABLY??

 

“Alright, alright. Everyone quiet down. The meeting’s not over yet,” Fowler spoke up.

 

Connor raised his hand before they could move to another topic. “Captain, I still don’t understand why this video has caused such a dramatic rise in public opinion towards the DPD.”  

 

Fowler could only offer him a shrug. “I don't pretend to get this internet popularity shit. If you wanna know the particulars than talk to our social media and marketing team.”

 

Connor glanced back at the view count with growing alarm: over 2 hundred million views. “Perhaps there was an error in their calculations - surely this amount of attention is a bit excessive?”

 

Hank put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a little reassuring shake. He must have detected the panic slowly seeping into his voice. “Don’t think too hard on it, Con. Half the time there’s no rhyme or reason for internet fame - it just happens. And sometimes it blows over just as fast.”

 

“...Should I...do anything about it?”

 

“You can do whatever the hell you want,” Fowler said, leaning on the podium and shrugging. “None of this was DPD sanctioned - for or against it. As long as you don’t misrepresent the DPD it’s none of our business what you do or don’t do online.”

 

Fowler pushed through with the presentation after that, the matter apparently closed. But the issue remained at the forefront of his processors, and continued still when they were dismissed back to their desks to finish the work day.

 

“Holy shit,” Hank said, staring intently at his monitor.

 

Connor was up and stepping around to Hank’s desk in a millisecond. Had his partner found a new case? Was there a breakthrough in an old investigation? Anything to get his mind off the perplexing conundrum of his random internet -

 

Goddamnit Hank.

 

“Jeffery wasn’t kidding when he said there were a fuck ton of videos about you.” There was a troubling amount of glee in Hank’s voice as he scrolled through YouTube, having typed in Connor’s name in the search bar.

 

“You shouldn’t be using police computers for recreational use, Lieutenant.”

 

“Uh huh. Sure thing. What number dog fail compilation are you on again? Asking for a friend.”

 

“...I doubt that is true,” Connor muttered.

 

Hank snorted. “Relax, Con. It’s a meeting day, nobody gets shit done on a meeting day.” He whistled lowly as he continued his scrolling. Title after title of “Android cop does…” or “Click to see Connor…” appeared, all with hundreds of thousands of views. “ _Yeaaaaa_ , I’d say you’re pretty fuckin’ popular. Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t know about this until today?”

 

“I honestly had no idea,” Connor said faintly, only growing more confused as more videos were revealed.

 

“ _Seriously_?” Hank shot him an incredulous look. “You’ve been free to roam the no-man’s-land that is the internet for a year and a half now and you’ve only been looking up cute animal videos and DIY’s this whole time?”

 

Connor found himself yet again perplexed as he gave Hank his own incredulous look. “What possible other form of entertainment does the internet have?”

 

“ _Uh_. Ever heard of a thing called Most Savage Sports Highlight reels?”

 

“Heard of and don’t care about, but please continue.”

 

“They didn’t download an iota of taste in that advanced system of yours, did they?”

 

“Lieutenant I must ask that you desist this instant you are hurting all five of my deviant feelings with your sick ass burns.”

 

Hank snorted and shoved him playfully. “Fuck right off. _Now_ you get sarcasm?”

 

“Please Lieutenant,” Connor continued to deadpan. He needn’t know that Connor found it easier to dish out over receiving. “Have mercy. Shutdown initiated in T-minus 3 minutes and counting.”

 

“Oh good fucking finally. Some peace and quiet at last.”

 

Mikael, who had been passing through from the break room with a coffee in hand, made a sudden beeline for them. “Ooo, click that one!” He gestured at a link that simply read: _Android Cop Dance Off._

 

Hank spared Connor an amused glance before shrugging and clicking the video.

 

A young woman’s face, maybe in her teens or early twenties, appeared on the screen. The lighting was dim. Music, electronic noises, and the sound of many people talking at once buzzed in the background.

 

“ _Decades of warnings from media, entertainment, and science itself,”_ she spoke, voice and expression as dry as the Sahara Desert, _“about the dangers of sentient artificial intelligence, have led to this moment here. BEHOLD!”_ she exclaimed, dramatically whipping her camera around. “ _The culmination of man’s hubris._ ”

 

Now in view was the back of Connor and another young woman. They were surrounded by a crowd of cheering teens and young adults as they played one of those new state of the art motion sensor dance games. The two were expertly following their respective avatars on the screen as a fast paced R&B song played, gliding and swaying around each other as if they’d been doing it for years together. The woman, who was several inches taller than Connor and considerably thicker, had long wavy hair dyed blond, colorful jewelry, a white crop top and jeans, and some sneakers.

 

Connor was wearing a suit. A steal grey, three piece suit. And dancing like he’d been coaching Beyoncé since 2001.

 

Several other officers were starting to gather around them, presumably drawn by Hank’s raucous cackling. Connor chose not to point out to his co-workers that they were participating in unauthorized recreational activity during work hours. He was starting to learn that occasions like this were similar to “mandatory meetings” and “casual Friday”, in that following the technical meanings of the terms were purely situational.

 

Also he didn’t want Hank to snitch on him about the dog videos.

 

“Daaaaaaaaaaamnnn, look at ya’ll go!” Chen said, grinning wildly and bobbing along to the music. “I’ve never seen anybody get a high score _and_ dance well on those glitchy things.”

 

“Psshh, try playing this type of shit with a Wiimote, then talk to me about glitchy,” said Hank.

 

“Weeeee-moat? Was that like those old motion sensor wristbands they discontinued last year?”

 

Hank gave Chen a look that wasn’t so much looking at her but seeing past horrors. White plastic rectangular remotes being flung into TV’s shaped horrors.  “You innocent child.”

 

“Sayyyy Connor,” asked Mikael, tentatively but not unkindly. This was the most the human had spoken to him directly in all the time Connor had worked in the DPD. Though, in his defense, it had been a busy year, and Connor had led an army of robots that one time. So. “do you uh...only own suits and ties?”

 

“No,” Connor said, in his beige suit and navy blue tie. Pajamas counted, right? He also had eight T-shirts, one of which belonged to Hank that he had no intention of returning. And a beanie. It felt like a sufficient amount of clothing to own, particularly when he was going into stasis in his closet in his old apartment. Plenty of room for him and his things.

 

“Suits are my favorite clothes to wear, however,” he added for justification, and because he never tired of declaring the things that he liked. “Is that incorrect of me, Officer Wilson?”

 

“ _Oh_ _No_! No no no. There’s nothing wrong with that - oh, uhhh...call me Mikael by the way -

 

Connor honed in on the invitation to address Officer Wilson in an informal context. Oh! Perhaps it was time to move Wilson’s file from PEOPLE WHO ARE MY FRIEND BUT DO NOT LIKE ME to FRIENDS (according to Hank, apparently these two things were _not_ synonymous, hence the seperate files) in his data bank. That would bring the total to 3 people since he deviated. How lovely!

 

“ - you just kinda... stand out a bit in a get up like that in a arcade, I guess.”

 

“I see…” A partial lie. He understood the social expectation of wearing appropriate clothing items for the corresponding activity and/or event. He did not understand how a good suit did not supersede all social norms.

 

“Hey but you do you, man. I think you pull off the double-o-seven look pretty well.”

 

“Thank you, Mikael.” He smiled, quite pleased. He got the James Bond reference, thanks to his and Hank’s Friday Movie nights. Next time when someone asked why he was wearing a suit at a pool party he would say he was going for the “double-o-seven” look.

 

Back on the computer screen, the camerawoman had turned her phone back towards her. Her lips were twitching as she fought to keep her expression flat. “ _Tremble humanity. For the android apocalypse is nigh._ ”

 

Again, the camera was whirled around to show the dancing duo, who were now twerking simultaneously like it was an olympic sport.

 

 _‘Level up, level up, level up, level up, level up,’_ the song demanded. Like a cultists chant. A sexy, super funky cultists chant. The twerking intensified.

 

‘ _All this on me, so yummy, all this oh so yummy_

 _You know you want this yummy, yummy all in your tummy..._ ’

 

Inexplicably, everyone had a different reaction to this. Some officers burst into excited shouts and clapping, some were letting out deep belly laughs, a few others were groaning in exasperation. Connor could not be more lost. He thought dancing was a relatively common human pastime?  

 

“Welp. That’s burned into my retinas,” Hank said. He was clearly apart of the last camp.

 

“I refuse to believe any of the nerds at CyberLife were able to install you with that much rhythm. It’s impossible,” Officer Person declared. “I now understand deviancy.”

 

“Somehow you are shaking what yo mama gave you...and yet, there is no mother to have done so,” Officer Brown said, the awe in his voice likened to a philosopher making a great discovery.

 

As Connor and the young lady struck their final pose, the video suddenly jump cut to a different scene. The view was from the outside of the prize store of the same arcade, the section enclosed by three floor to ceiling glass walls. In the center of the store was Connor, surrounded by a bunch of happily screaming kids and young teens as he casually rained a basket of soft toys on them all. The camera zoomed in on the cashier, who was banging his head on the counter, done with life and probably this job. There was a holographic ticket hovering by his elbow that read: NEW RECORD! 50,000,000 TICKETS! CONGRATULATIONS CONNOR!

 

“ ** _Look at this_** _,_ ” came the camera woman's voice, the vehemence an odd contrast to her words. “ _Look at this wholesome ass shit right there. My heart can’t take it this is too pure._ ” The image zoomed in again on Connor. A small corgi backpack was now strapped onto his suit clad back, and a small boy was sitting on his shoulders, smacking the crap out of his head with a plush bunny. The maniacally cackling child may as well have been a head accessory for all the android seemed to care, as he continued to hurl toys at the hoard of children amidst the other kids scrambling around to pick the breakable and non throwable toys off the shelves. “ _If I **ever**. Ever ever **EVER!** Hear another mother fucker say that androids are unfeeling machines with no mother fucking souls, I swear to God I will fucking punch them in the trachea._”

 

“Fuck yea,” Hank said, just as fiercely. “You tell ‘em lady.”

 

Normally Connor would reprimand Hank for encouraging, yet again, unsolicited acts of violence from civilians. But...well, Connor would be lying if he said he wasn’t warmed by the support Hank and the woman were showing towards his fellow androids.

 

So instead he logged on to her video through his HUD and gave her a “like”.

 

Once the video ended, his co-workers did not in fact disperse and carry on about their business, which was Connor’s initial prediction/hope. They merely continued requesting videos for Hank to click. Connor turning the ropes for a game of double dutch with a bunch of children and YK500 models. Connor walking grannies across the street. Connor juggling random objects that people were tossing at him, which included a scooter and one guy who lost a bet. Compilations. _Compilations_ of Connor parkouring up various trees and retrieving various baby animals for their owners. On and on they watched. It appeared that Connor had severely underestimated both his colleagues’ fascination with his boring personal life and the power of a YouTube spiral.

 

He was suddenly blanketed with an odd array of emotions that he was having difficulty identifying, and it was not at all the same feeling he had during the meeting. Being complimented was very...nice, particularly because it didn’t happen often, particularly because it was for essentially just going about his normal day - as if they liked him for simply being himself. He had been trying very hard to find a balance between being himself (i.e. weird) and making people (i.e. humans and androids) uncomfortable ever since he turned deviant.

 

Simultaneously, he would like it very much if everyone could leave and not speak of this ever again.

 

Accompanying this feeling was the rather random urge to hunch his shoulders and cover his face in his hands, which he had never needed to do before outside of being bombarded with something. Like knives. Or shoes. Or that truck load of sting rays that one time...

 

Anyway. Connor couldn’t find a dialog option to get his co-workers to go back to work that wouldn’t decimate all of the good will he’d earned by a considerable amount. Like a get punched in the nose kind of amount.

 

Well. Fine. He needed to stop making a habit of falling back on his programming during uncharted situations regardless. Follow your gut, Hank always said. Connor did not have a gut. So he would have to make due with bicomponent #8456w.

 

Currently it was telling him that most humans have short attention spans so suck it up until they grow bored and find something else to do.

 

The next video they chose showed one of Connor’s outings at a park with Sumo. Finally, the high view count made perfect sense. Connor could not fathom any creature living or machine who would not be enchanted by Sumo.

 

“Ok. What the actual fuck?”

 

Hank sounded unjustifiably mystified. Connor couldn’t help but glare at him. “You are fully aware that I take Sumo out every Sunday morning for Work Out Time. I have invited you to join us on numerous occasions.” It was one of his least subtle approaches in his grand scheme to get Hank to engage in a healthier lifestyle. It was also his least successful.

 

“ _Yah_. But I thought that meant you were just going on walks, not... _this_!”

 

“This” was Connor doing a variety of human exercise routines, with Sumo replicating them in the best way a four legged, 170 pound, creature of foof and goodness possibly could.

 

When Connor jogged in place, Sumo marched all four of his paws next to him. When Connor jumped knees to chest, side to side over a waist high bar, Sumo was springing back and forth behind him. When Connor did lunges across the grassy field, Sumo did his best approximation by stretching his two left paws forward and then his two right paws. When Connor did sit ups, Sumo was...on his back mostly nodding his head and wagging his front paws around. There was only so much flexibility the doggy body would allow, but it was good enough for Connor to know that Sumo wasn’t slacking and doing his best.

 

“Jeeze,” Mikael said in a voice that was both amazed and self deprecating, “I can’t believe this dog is in better shape than I am - is this fool doing _burpees!_?”

 

“Tell me about it,” Hank grumbled. “This is ridiculous. Last night I asked Sumo to ‘shake’ and he rolled over and chewed the chair leg. Now you’re telling me he can suddenly do push ups?”

 

“Sumo is very intelligent and an eager student,” Connor said, smiling proudly as Sumo did his 5th rep of push ups on the computer screen, which was really him flopping onto his belly and standing up. The saint bernard had made it up to 10 that day.

 

“Is it even safe for Sumo to be doing shit like that? He’s a big dog and they’re not meant to be jumping around too much.”

 

Connor had never been so offended in his year and a half of existence. “...How goddamn dare you.”

 

“ _Alright alright alright_ quit lookin’ at me like that I get it! You’d never hurt a hair on Sumo’s head. Sheesh forget I said anything.”

 

Connor adjusted his tie as he urged his LED to shift back from it’s angry red to blue, and tried to dial back his interrogation_expression #12 program that had started running without his consent. “As long as we’re clear.”

 

“Throw coffee in your face and spit in your eye and it’s all peace and forgiveness, but mention Sumo and suddenly the kid gloves come off, Jesus...” Hank muttered, rolling his eyes with what Connor suspected was 3% more ‘tude than necessary. Then he added in a grumble so low and unintelligible that the android was probably the only one who could understand, “Next time you guys go out wake me up and don’t lemme take no for an answer. No way in hell am I being shown up by my own dog.”

 

Likely in an effort to get further thoughts of fitness out of Connor’s mind, Hank clicked a video at random before the previous one ended. It was titled: _Try Not To Awwwwww Challenge | (IMPOSSIBLE)_. When it started, the camera was angled in such a way that it was clear the surrounding area was the inside of a pet store, and the person holding it was peeking around an aisle. The camera was zoomed in on Connor, who was sitting cross legged in the middle of a gated pen, dressed in his old CyberLife outfit (which immediately dated the video as older than the submittal date. He and Hank had set his jacket on fire the second it was legal), and covered from head to toe in tiny baby bunnies.

 

“ _Hank,_ ” Connor said, brown eyes wide with wonder and voice reverent, “ _they’re so soft._ ” A little white bunny was nestled in the palm of his hand, not putting up any fuss as Connor gently pet its head with one finger.

 

“AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” everyone said with varying degrees of depth.

 

What a cruel human to even suggest such a challenge was winnable, Connor thought. Who could resist cooing over bunnies? Even Amanda would turn deviant if she’d had a chance to hold a bunny. Maybe. At least 10% deviant. She was kind of a hard sell.

 

“ _Yea, that’s how bunnies work, kid,_ ” Hank’s amused voice floated from somewhere off camera.

 

“ ** _How_**?”

 

“‘ _The fuck do you mean **‘how’**? You’re the supercomputer you’d know more than me._”

 

“ _I do but...none of the descriptors in my search explained how…_ ” Another bunny hopped on top of Connor’s head at that moment. He and the bunny’s expression suddenly shifted into a look of determination. “ _Hank. I think this is one of the best feelings I have ever felt._ ”

 

The “AWWW’s” were particularly deafening this time. It was a wonder that Captain Fowler hadn’t come out of his office to yell at them yet.

 

“Ha. You guys all lose. Each of you owes me a drink,” said Hank.

 

“Are you kidding me!?” Mikael protested. “How could you not ‘aww’ at that? That’s so cute I think I’m actually gonna die.”

 

“RIP but you still owe me a drink.”

 

“ _Really_? You really didn’t go ‘aww’ this entire time?”

 

“We were all pretty loud,” Chen piped up. “He might have whispered it and we didn’t hear.”

 

“Connor would’ve heard! Connor, did he go ‘aww’?”

 

Connor did hear. Hank had definitely whispered a nearly mute “aww!” at the bunnies. “No,” he said. He was loyal to his partner. And Hank was going to pay for his insolence this Sunday during Work Out Time anyway.

 

“Hate to break it you son, but ‘cute’ ain’t in my vocabulary.”

 

“Yea. Anderson came out the womb a grumpy old man. Respect it bitch.” Chen muttered.

 

“That’s ‘ _Lieutenant’_ Anderson,” Hank said, deadpan and unimpressed. “I take my whiskey on the rocks, by the way.”

 

Mikael threw his hands up in exasperation. “That’s not even how you play the game!”

 

“Fine. Then as your CO I’m ordering you all to owe me a drink.”

 

“Speaking of situations pertaining to holding up your end of the bargain,” Connor interjected. He realized too late that this was not the best segue for the request he was about to make. This was, Connor was finding, the true beauty of being a deviant advanced prototype. He lacked the impulse control that came with being emotional, while simultaneously being made aware of every correct action he should have taken and how much more successful those paths would be.

 

Being a deviant was literally the worst thing ever sometimes, if that wasn’t clear.

 

“We were discussing the merits of getting another pet to serve as a companion for Sumo that day, if you recall?.”

 

“Yuh huh. I remember that. _And_ I remember saying I’d think about it...as soon as you stopped tryna’ smuggle random animals in the house.”

 

“I have done no such thing.”

 

“Oh _really_? You gonna tell me that shit with a straight face?” Hank span his chair around to face him fully, arms crossed. “What about the gila monster?”

 

“He was confiscated along with other evidence during a Red Ice raid. He only stayed at our house for one night...as you are aware.”

 

“Uh huh. And the horse?”

 

“Horse!?” Person squawked. “You snuck a horse into his house!?”

 

“ _Damn_ , that’s next level,” said Chen. Her steadfast penchant for admiring illegal activities was, as always, astounding to Connor. “You just bypassed kittens and frogs and went straight to horse, huh Connor?”

 

“Did you miss the part where he snuck in a gila monster?” said Mikael. “Horses are not beyond the realm of possibility here.”

 

“I did not sneak her in - nor the gila monster,” Connor said before anyone else could chime in. He truly had not anticipated so much solidarity for Hank’s completely imaginary plight. He could see the probability of getting another pet steadily dwindling. “She was wandering around the freeway at three o’ clock in the morning and was posing a hazard to everyone’s safety in addition to her own. I informed animal control of the situation and they said they would pick her up as soon as they were able. Which they did.”

 

Person waved her hands frantically. “Hold on hold on backup a second. How did you even get the horse back to the house?” she asked slowly, her eyebrows furrowed as if she were trying to picture it and not quite succeeding. “It’s not like you can fit a horse in your car - ”

 

“Androids were not allowed to own or drive cars during the time of this event, Officer.”

 

“Oh right. So you took a taxi?”

 

“No.”

 

“....then how did you get on the freeway without a car?”

 

“I walked.”

 

“Wal - ! What were you doing on the freeway at three AM!?”

 

Connor scanned Officer Person to insure she wasn’t ill. Her vital signs were all normal, so that did not explain why she insisted on talking in circles. “I was walking.”

 

Person shook her head slowly at him in bafflement, which Connor thought was very unfair considering she was the one being so strange. “... _I have so many questions_.”

 

“Two days, Connor,” Hank put in as if no other conversation had been going on. “There was a goddamn horse in our backyard for _two_. _Days_.”

 

“That was the stated amount of time animal control could retrieve her, yes. You should also note that I did not sneak her into the house. I made every effort I could to make you aware of the circumstances at the time.”

 

“You call a text at four AM “every effort”!?”

 

“And a phone call.”

 

Hank threw his hands up at that. “Well it’s a wonder I didn’t have the fuckin’ hay bales ready. _OH_! And hey, here’s a fun fact for you guys: _horses **eat** fences_!”

 

That was hardly a “fun” fact. A fun fact was if you ever happened to have a chocolate tootsie pop in your pocket you could use it to lead a horse across a five lane highway. “It was only three quarters of the fence and I have since repaired it Lieutenant.”

 

“Fine. What about the peacock, Connor?” Hank shot back, relentless.

 

“I had no idea there was this much wildlife in Detroit,” Officer Brown mused.

 

“Apparently,” said Mikael, snickerking. “and they’re all at the Lieutenant's house.”

 

“He escaped from the zoo along with a hoard of other animals. We didn’t even have him over for an entire day.”

 

Hank leaned slowly forward, hands on his knees, face hard. “The platypus, Connor.”

 

Connor fidgeted with his tie, his LED circling and settling on yellow.

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE

  * _Convince Hank to allow new pet to live with us_



 

 **Scanning…**.

 

**Probability Of Success: 12% and lowering**

 

...He was never going to get a kitty.

 

 “Alright...I will admit that the exotic animal smuggling ring was not in my jurisdiction, but I already told you that I was not purposely tracking them - it was purely coincidental that I was in that banana crate - ”

 

“So. Many. **_Questions_** ,” Person reiterated faintly.

 

“And as the only officer nearby it was my duty to interfere in any way that I could.”

 

Hank stared at him. “Platypus. In my bathtub. For a week.”

 

 **Probability Of Success: 3% and lowering.** Fuck!

 

“The sanctuary in Canada estimated a much longer arrival time to come and retrieve him. It’s not as if I had any intention of keeping him Lieutenant.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Hank said lightly. He leaned forward an inch further, a classic sign in interrogation that he was going in for the kill. “Then why’d you name him Platy-perseus?”

 

Connor adjusted his tie again. He tried to look elsewhere to avoid Hank’s accusing stare; Officer Chen cooed “ _Awwww oh my god Platy-perseus is the best name!_ ” unhelpfully, while Mikael traitorously nodded his head in solidarity with Hank. “...I don’t see how that’s relevant. Giving him a name was simply for easier identification purposes.”

 

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to confuse him for all the other platypuses in the house.”

 

Connor dismissed the stats before he could fully process them. No point in pouring sand in his open thirium lines, as the saying goes. The reasonable explanation route was not working at all. Time to switch tactics. “...It has been 64 days since I last brought home an animal.”

 

Hank leaned back and crossed his arms again, regarding Connor silently. Would he explode? Would he list more animal related hijinxs (which of course sounded far more grave when he listed it back to back like that)? The other officers waited with bated breath.  

 

“Well, when you’re right you’re right,” he finally said. “64 days clean. ‘Spose that’s worth a reward.”

 

Connor’s LED blinked yellow rapidly, eyes widening. He had been aiming for a non awkward ride home. This marvelous outcome was well out of the range of his predictions. “Hank...are you implying…?”

 

“We’ll go to a pet store next weekend, if nothing comes up,” he said curtly, spinning around to face his computer again in dismissal. As if he had not just made Connor’s year. “It’s gotta be small, it’s gotta be in a cage, and _you’re_ gonna take care of it, got it?”

 

There was no keeping the smile off his face, his LED now a bright blue beacon. It was taking all of Connor’s considerable self control not to swoop Hank in a hug and shower him with thanks, knowing the older man’s distaste for public displays of affection. “Got it, Hank.”

 

“ _Wahooo_! Fuck yea!” Chen cheered, clapping. Hank gave her his typical “‘the fuck is the matter with you?” look, to which she merely shrugged. “What? I got invested.”

 

“Thank you, Officer Chen.”

 

Chen shoved his shoulder lightly. “Ehhh fuck off. It’s been like two years, call me Tina.”

 

Connor sincerely hoped that the smile he was wearing wasn’t too creepy, because it was going to take a lot of work to make it go away now. Two new friends and a new pet in one day. Fuck yea, indeed.

 

Hank told everyone to get back to work after that. Well, he said “ _get the fuck away from me you cretins_ ”, but potato potato-with a different tone inflection. The remainder of their shift went by slowly and uneventfully, and soon enough he and Hank were clocking out and heading home.

 

The radio was tuned in to an old jazz station this ride. Hank had the volume turned low so the static interference wasn’t as bothersome. The saxophone solo filled the silence of the car, fading in and out as it competed with a indiscernible talk show.

 

“You doin’ alright over there, kid?” Hank asked. He glanced over at him and smirked a little. “Or are ya blinking yellow cause your tryna find a loophole in our deal and looking up muskrats and sugar gliders?”    

 

“No,” Connor said, chuckling a little. “I was just thinking...”

 

“Hmm, yea. Pretty exciting day for a staff meeting.”

 

“Yes I...think this was the first time our co-workers have been so...”

 

“Decent? Treated you with the respect you fucking deserve?”

 

“I was going to say ‘inclusive’.”

 

Hank snorted. “Of course you were. But yea, most of the crew’s been warming up to you for a while now, I could tell.”

 

Connor turned to him, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. “Really?”

 

“Yup. Though clearly they haven’t been too obvious about it.” Hank started to trail off and grumble. “Dumbass kids don’t know how to talk to people these days....”

 

“I hadn’t noticed at all…” Connor said thoughtfully, turning his attention back to the window and Detroit’s passing scenery.

 

“No surprise there. ‘Specially since you didn’t even notice all the cameras on you.”

 

Connor frowned, shoulders hunching involuntarily at the mere reminder of all those videos. “Ah, about that. I wanted to ask you earlier...is it normal for humans to film each other so often?”

 

“Sure as fuck is. People do it all the time, been doin’ it since phones came preinstalled with cameras. And yes, doing it _without_ people's permission or knowledge is just as common.”

 

“Even when you are not doing anything particularly interesting?”

 

Hank rolled his eyes. “Tch, you would see karate kicking a tire into fucking space as uninteresting, but yea. People will film anything. Betch’ya five bucks there’s a three hour video of a toe nail posted somewhere. Say, wait a sec...” Hank side eyed him, taking in his hunched form before he could change his stance. “Don’t tell me your shy about all the attention?”

 

“I - I...Maybe? I appreciate our co-workers admiration over my - ” ‘ _Accomplishments_ ’ was not the right word. Aside from helping that little girl, there had been no Mission or impressive task he had completed. Connor was simply… “doing...stuff, and they’re kind words. But I do not think merely completing my day to day activities warrants the kind of esteem they are granting me.”

 

“ _And_ he’s humble,” Hank shook his head in slow wonder. “Look at that, you’re blushing too! Ha! Mr. I’ll tell you every five minutes I’m a one of a kind prototype is shy. I feel like a barely know you.”

 

“...I didn’t say it that often,” Connor muttered sullenly, even as he dug through his memory files for every instance he had uttered the phrase.

 

“Yea yea, no need to pout.” Hank was silent for a moment. There was barely any static in the radio and there was no sound from the talk show. The saxophonist had won for the time being.  “Hellofa way to break the ice huh? Precinct finally acknowledges you and all ya had to do was get caught doing goofy shit on film by randos.”

 

“A better ice breaker than saying I am CyberLife’s most advanced Prototype?” Connor grinned.

 

Hank barked a laugh. “Yea. Much better, kid.”

 

Acknowledgement. Before today, Connor would have said that he had a strictly professional, albeit tense relationship his colleagues. The longer he worked at the DPD, the more he saw some of the begrudging cooperation melt into begrudging respect. “ _Good morning_ ”s rewarded with nods instead of suspicious glares, speaking to him directly when discussing a case instead of looking past him. At Connor’s most discouraged Hank would always say they would come around eventually, and if they didn’t they weren’t worth his time anyway. Before today Connor thought that this was as “ _around_ ” as he was going to get.

 

Now though, maybe he could count on his human co-workers to not let him bleed to death during a shootout _and_ give an invite to the next office karaoke night. Connor smiled to himself, as another emotion, one he had felt as he heard Markus speaking that fateful day at Hart Plaza, one that he continued to feel everyday as he discovered more and more new things about being alive…

 

 _HOPE_.   

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Thanks for reading!
> 
> For updates and the like, check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/
> 
> More to come soon!
> 
> *The song mentioned "Level Up" By Ciara


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